


Here, Kitty, Kitty....

by BelaLugosi



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Carry On Countdown 2020 (Simon Snow), M/M, Sleepless, Werewolf, crackfic, fast and loose, i literally don't know what I am doing anymore, pretty much crack, werepanther
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelaLugosi/pseuds/BelaLugosi
Summary: Werewolf Simon pisses off his Werepanther boyfriend.  Who spends all day sulking over it.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	Here, Kitty, Kitty....

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire/gifts), [Adamarks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adamarks/gifts).



> Spur of the moment. Un beta'd.
> 
> COC2020 - Sleepless.

He’s hiding. I hate when he does this. 

You would think that a panther would be easy to find, even in this huge gothic (erhem, VICTORIAN) mansion, but Baz grew up here. He learned _how_ to be a panther here. 

And if he doesn’t want to be found, he simply won’t be.

I am such an idiot sometimes, this is entirely my fault - in a way that completely isn’t. I can’t always control what I do when I’m in wolf-form. It’s like the human part of my brain takes a backseat, and if you think I’m shite at impluse control when I’m a person, you should see wolf-me go. 

There were so many rabbits last night! And deer! The Grimm-Pitches keep the woods here wonderfully well stocked, and Baz _did_ say I should help myself (I am always hungry, no matter what shape I’m in).

I didn’t mean to chase the deer into the small copse of new trees in the front section of the woods, and I _certainly_ didn’t mean to snap most (maybe all?) of the saplings in two. . . 

. . . I am also, apparently, clumsy in whatever form my body takes. 

As a result, when I woke this morning, I did not find my cat-who-ate-the-canary boyfriend smiling lazily (hungrily) at me, sleeping next to me, or even gone - off to an early class (all three of these are completely normal Bazes to wake up to).

No. I found him perched - _perched_ \- on a chair in the corner, watching me with his grey eyes flecked with panther-yellow. 

“I just had those trees _planted_ , Snow,” he growled at me. I mean that literally.

I was going to argue, then and there, because that’s what we bloody well _do_. But then I reached up to scratch my head and found my curls tangled up with sticks and leaves and deer fur. 

At least I caught the thing. I could feel the blood dried on my chin, now that I was yawning and moving it. 

“Shit. Sorry? Did I break them, then?” I sat up and stretched, noting my nakedness. Usually a combination of that and the blood would grant me a completely different waking-up scenario. Baz sometimes likes to lick me clean. He grooms me like a kitten - it’s irritating (it’s hot). 

“Yes, Snow. They’re ruined. All of them,” he huffed at me. 

“I’m sorry.” He was taking this really badly, and I thought it was weird. Surely he’d broken a few saplings himself, prowling around the forest at night in panther shape? “Were they very special trees?”

“Yes!” Baz jumped down from the chair and got an inch from my face. “They were new!”

I slid out from under the covers and stood, still naked, and crossed one arm to grab the elbow of my other arm. “Yeah, I got that. I didn’t realize you’d be so upset about it. It really was an accident.”

The sound that came from my lover’s mouth came out half groan and half roar, as he shifted (gracefully, as always, the prick), shredding the shirt he slept in, and ran from the room. He was probably trying to avoid having an _actual_ go at me, but it still smarted a bit to have him run from me. 

And now here I am, hours later. I tried all of my tricks: I put out tea (earl grey works like catnip on that posh twat), I played Bowie records, ate his entire bag of salt and vinegar crisps in the middle of the kitchen (while proclaiming loudly that I was doing so), … I even tried to _seduce_ him out of hiding (that was an awkward situation that I won’t ever try again… unless I’m completely desperate). 

It seems that I’ll have to go for my last resort - to sniff him out. He’s clever, and can hide well enough from even my superior senses (he once hid under a table laden with eucalyptus plants in the hot house) (I already checked there), but there wasn’t much he could do to hide from me when I was in full wolf form. The only problem with that is that I am completely forbidden to shift in the house. Probably due to the clumsiness I was talking about before, and the house being full of priceless antiques and magical heirlooms. 

“Baz,” I start, loudly and slowly. “Listen, I’m really sorry I broke your trees, but it’s been all day and I’m worried; you missed two classes. I’m going to go out to the yard and shift, and then come back in here to find you, now. Don’t be mad. I’ll do my best to rein it in.”

As I’m walking to the foyer, stripping my shirt from my body, I hear a roar and then a thud. Paws hitting the hardwood. 

“You’ll do no such thing, you absolute nightmare,” Baz says from behind me, standing (completely nude - I am not complaining). 

Immediately, I’m running to him, barrelling into his chest and wrapping my arms around his body. 

“Ooof,” he says. If he wasn’t preternaturally strong like me, I’d probably have accidentally broken him by now (or not so accidentally).

“I really am sorry, Baz,” I murmur into the skin of his chest. 

“It’s all right, Simon,” he says and I feel his hand come up to card through my hair, detangling the mess. “Suppose I can always have it redone, you brute.” 

I smile and he must feel it, because he chuckles and then slides his hands down to cup my arse and lift me up. I wrap my legs around his middle and accept his manhandling. Sometimes I like it. 

“Until then, I’ll just have to use you,” he tells me as he turns toward the staircase and, presumably, our bedroom. 

That gets my attention. “For what?”

He leans down to nip at my earlobe and whisper, “Scratching post.” 

I shiver involuntarily, and increase the pressure my legs are putting on his waist. He walks a little faster, eager to make good on his offer. 

The bedroom door is barely closed, and he has me laying on my back before my brain catches up. He’s reaching into a drawer for something (his favorite toy, probably, which ironically has mouse ears) and I can’t help but blurt out, “You had trees planted… to use as a scratching post?” 

When his head lifts from the drawer (yep, that’s the mouse-plug), his cheeks are a lovely shade of pink. “They smell nice. When my claws rip the bark, the sap smells good.” 

“And here I thought the grooming products stayed in the bathroom.”

His laughter is the best sound in the world. Worth the entire day spent looking for an oversized, sulking black cat. 


End file.
